A Stark Family Adventure
by bhut
Summary: Pre-series. When the Starks were younger, Bran, the middle son, discovered a new animal 'friend' in the woods...
1. Chapter 1

**A Stark Family Adventure**

 _Disclaimer: all of the characters belong to their respective owners._

 _Across the multiverse…_

…At a time that was quite some time before King Robert, the First of His Name, and the rest of his entourage came to the North, Bran Stark, not yet a Three-Eyed Raven, a Greenseer, or a lot of other things, but just the middle son of the Lord Neddard and Lady Catelyn Stark, went to climb a tree, since at that time, he wasn't anywhere near paralyzed.

And so, up a tree he went, almost as quickly as any squirrel would. What he found, however, was no squirrel, but rather a Westerosi marten, an animal similar in size and appearance to an American marten, (rather than a fisher, for example). It looked cute, but was actually rather nervous: even in Westeros, humans would hunt them for their fur to keep themselves warm in winter. As such, while Bran was certainly excited to meet a new furry friend, (he was _that_ sort of a boy at that moment, after all), and a cute one that, the marten was certain unhappy and scared to meet a human being in its tree – and while it was smaller than its' badger and wolverine cousins, it still had their temper…

"You're so fluffy!" Bran declared brightly, failing to realize that the pressed down ears and exposed teeth of the animal implied that he should leave ASAP instead. "Nice to meet you! I'm Bran!" and he tried to tickle its' chin, (the way that his lady mother would do to him, if he behaved especially nicely, and not like, say, Arya would).

Things went downhill from there, as you never try to establish physical contact with a wild animal…

/ / /

"Robb!" Lord Stark exclaimed sometime later, as the eldest Stark son returned with the one in the middle. "Did you find Bran? What took you so long? And why do you look so rough?"

(Lord Stark's atypical behavior came from the fact that his family was due for a visit from some other noble dignitary or other, so he was feeling the pressure from his wife, and it showed).

Instead of replying, Robb just thrust his brother in question forwards, complete with the marten, which was still clamping Bran's wrist in its jaws with all the intensity of a vise.

"Mama! Papa!" Bran wailed…more from fear than from pain – yet. "I'm stuck!"

"Robb! How could you not help your brother?" lady Stark yelled at their eldest with a volume that could easily match Bran's – say what you would about her, but she had a reddish-brown temper to match her hair, after all.

Robb just shot their parents a dirty look, which they ignored. Actually, he had a good reason for not helping Bran – Bran had found him first, if by calling the fall of a dirty, yelling, flailing mess right onto Robb's…lap a finding or a discovery. Robb would not call it anything, because the impact proved to be quite sore for him, so he was not entirely sure if he should utter some sort of a dirty swear word that he had invented on that occasion, or make a whining sound of pain, (something like 'Hwee'!). As such, he said nothing, while his father moved towards Bran to remove the 'stuck', (or more appropriately – the adhered) marten from the boy's wrist before the damage became irreversible.

The marten is a cousin to the weasel too, but apparently it wasn't as bloodthirsty as the smaller animal is: it took one good look at the approaching lord Stark, weighted its options, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor, here: it released Bran's wrist and bolted across the Stark courtyard, right past the spot where Arya was sneaking peeks at what was going on.

"Yee!" Arya yelped in a manner that was very much Sansa-like: at this moment in time, both Stark sisters had more similarities in their characters than they would later, as they would grow apart… Right now, though, Arya yelled and fell flat on her butt instead.

"Robb, help your sister," lord Stark said curtly, as he began to lead Bran to their maester, while Robb managed an equally curt laugh despite his soreness. That was actually a mistake, as Arya was already demonstrating a different character from Sansa: she immediately got back onto her feet, marched over to Robb, and hit him right in the sore spot on his body.

"…" Robb spoke the curse that he had invented, when Bran had fallen onto it, even as the pain from Arya's blow forced him to fold like a rusty door-hinge. "…" he repeated it right into Arya's innocent, pink, maidenly ears. (Remember, this was the time before Arya became an orphan and learned some very rough sides of life despite her own resiliency and toughness).

However, even at this state in life, Arya's eye lit-up in deceptively child-like wonder: "…" she repeated Robb's curse, all but tasting it. "I love it! I think I will use at it dinner tonight – yeee!"

The last part came from the fact that lady Stark may've had a temper of her own, but regardless she was a woman of certain _views_ , and right now those _views_ led her to grab both Robb and Arya by the ears and march them off to the local bathroom, (or to whatever was in place of bathrooms in Westeros), in order to wash their mouths out with soap, (or with whatever passed for soap in Westeros, again).

…Lord Stark looked at his eldest son and youngest daughter, who were being led by his wife (and their mother, cough Jon Snow cough) for their punishment, looked at his middle son, who was currently being treated by their maester, and sighed:

"If _any_ person of _any_ significance ever comes to us from the south, we're doomed," he told no one in particular.

PS: And the marten fully intended to return to the wild woods where Bran found it, when it, instead, discovered the Stark family poultry, and immediately re-thought its' plans, and decided that its' confrontation with the Stark family deserved a sequel.

End


	2. Chapter 2

**A Stark Family Adventure with the Boltons**

 _Disclaimer: all characters belong to Martin and etc._

The marten was not going away, it seems. In fact, it seemed to be bringing friends and/or family with it, since the Starks' family poultry was particularly to their tastes, and they were fully prepared to cache surplus food in the summer, even though winter was nowhere in sight – not yet, anyways.

"Well, this blows," muttered the Starks' family ward, Theon Greyjoy, as he and the Stark family, including Jon Snow, observed the martens' latest visit to the coups. "I admit, I can do without chicken pot pies as well as the next Iron Islander, but this is frankly insulting."

"Yeah, buddy?" Robb, who was particularly testy, since this current failure to protect the poultry happened on his watch, "well, why don't you come up with some new ideas, here? Your watch didn't go any better than mine!"

Theon took a deep breath of air, thought over truly hard, (for him, anyhow), and finally actually produced an original idea, (especially by his standards). "Well, I know that Lady and Lord Stark were arguing recently about Lord Bolton, his family and dogs. Maybe Lord Stark could request, or ask, for some of those dogs to catch the weasel, or the marten, or whatever it is?"

There was a pause as Robb thought this over – he honestly did not expect Theon to come-up with a halfway good idea at all, and as such, he honestly did not know how to counter it, even if the Boltons were not involved in it, potentially. Twice had the house Dreadfort of Flayed Men rise against the Wolves of Winterfell, and both times, they were defeated after some brutal fighting. These days, the Boltons stayed quiet, keeping to themselves, but with them the potential for violence was always there. As such, Robb did not want to provoke them for anything, though he did not want to lose face to Theon either.

"Maybe you should ask them, instead," he told his friend and family's ward.

"Ah, but I am not a Stark – just their ward," Theon clearly put extra effort into thinking this all over beforehand. "My words don't carry nearly the same weight in the north as your family's do. I doubt that Lord Bolton will listen to me. To you – yeah, probably, since you are the Stark family heir-"

"Yes, well," Robb began to argue, when his father, the Lord Stark in question, put his hand onto Robb's shoulder and stopped the discussion.

"What Robb means to say, is that true, Lord Roose isn't liable to listen to anyone but me, and perhaps – my lady wife and the eldest son," the Starks' family patriarch told Theon, who was listening with a carefully blank face. "He also means to say that Lord Roose is never really helpful to anyone, not even his family, nor to his friends – if he ever had any."

"I know, Ser, which is why I never insisted on it," Theon replied in that new carefully controlled and measured vocal manner of his.

"I am aware of this," Lord Stark nodded in acknowledgement, "and I'm aware that none of us, including Robb and me, have any better ideas. Our traps do not appear to be working, and neither is keeping watch. As such, we might as well ask Lord Roose for his dogs and see what happens."

"Ser?" Both Robb and Theon looked at Lord Eddard.

"Go and get dressed – we're going for a ride."

"To Dreadfort?" The pair looked equally worried.

"Of course not!" Though he would never admit it, Eddard did not want to meet Roose Bolton at his seat of power even for a minor favor – especially for a minor favor. "During one of his hunts instead."

"This means Ramsay," Theon muttered to Robb, his new character traits already slipping. "Maybe we should bring your Jon as well."

"And so we shall," Lord Eddard replied before Robb could. He was not too sure what to make of the new, semi-serious Theon, but he knew how to manage him all the same. Of course, Theon knew that as well, so there was that too. "One of you, tell Jon – we ride soon, for Lord Roose has left for one of his hunts already!"

Theon and Robb exchanged looks between themselves and ran to execute Lord Stark's demands.

/ / /

 _Several hours later…_

Several hours later, the foursome rode through the northern woods towards lord Roose's hunting party. Unlike his bastard, Lord Bolton himself did not hunt very often, (cough), but on occasion, he did, especially during the summer, when the cold northern wind was more tolerable than in winter.

…More precisely, today could have been a lovely summer day, if it was not for never-ending cold northern wind, which kept the sky in an ever-shifting patchwork of grey-white clouds and clear blue skies…not that the riders could tell beneath the forest's canopy: the thick tree-tops of pine, fir, and especially spruce kept the skies largely hidden, and definitely diminished even the power of the northern wind, making the riders feel almost stuffy.

"Ah, my Lord Stark," Lord Roose spoke suddenly, riding out of the forest's gloom. "To what do we have the honor of your presence?"

Lord Stark raised an eyebrow; Lord Roose did not bat an eye: people did know, after all, that he had people watching Winterfell from afar in case of any interesting goings-on there. Of course, he was the one, who decided what was interesting and what was not, so his watchers told him everything, and Lord Roose listened gravely and made his own counsel based on that.

"As you know," Lord Stark continued calmly, "we have something of a pest infestation-"

"How terrible," Lord Roose nodded, sounding almost, but not quite, happy. There was no love lost between Starks and Boltons after all, and you know what they say about an unloved neighbour's misfortune.

"So we were hoping to loan some of your dogs, perhaps, or traps, to deal with it," Lord Stark continued, ignoring his interlocutor's comment, while looking straight at him.

"I think I know what you need," Lord Roose agreed easily, even as he turned around his horse. "Follow me, my lord."

And so they did. Moreover, they did not have to go far, just into the bushes slightly off to the side, where Lord Bolton's bastard son Ramsey, and a couple of Boltons' huntsmen, were observing a trapped badger.

…A Westeros badger is similar in size and shape to an American badger, rather than a European badger or a honey badger, but like all badgers it has attitude and strength beyond its' size, which is very big by the weasel family's standards, especially its' claws and teeth. Moreover, the trap had caught the animal imperfectly, and it had almost escaped out of it, though right now, it was more distracted by the people around it – badgers do not like humans as a rule, (and the feeling is often reciprocated).

"My lord Bolton?" Lord Stark kept his voice carefully bland. "What is your point-?"

"This is trap type perfect for catching badgers, weasels, martens, ferrets, and what have you!" Lord Roose replied brightly. Since he was a Bolton, it was especially disturbing for him to sound so human. "Ramsay?"

"Yes father?" Ramsay eyed his father very, very carefully: apparently, Lord Roose in a good mood was bad news for anyone who lived in Dreadfort.

"Hand the trap over to Lord Paramount, would you?"

"…The badger, father?"

"Deal with it."

Ramsay blanched: to be honest, he was more than slightly cowardly at heart and did not like to fight anyone or anything if he did not have a distinct advantage, and right now, he did not. Of course, he was also far more scared of his father, so he went towards the badger, very slowly and reluctantly, trying to look professional, but not quite pulling it off.

The badger took one good look at Ramsay, snarled, jerked, and – pulled itself free, though ripping its' thick and loose fur just slightly. And then it charged – Ramsay leapt high into the air so the badger missed him, and charged at the horses instead. The horses bucked and brayed, and – a piece of dead raw chicken fell out of one of the saddlebags. The badger, without losing its stride, grabbed the poultry and vanished in the gloomy woods.

Ramsay took one look at his lord father's facial expression and promptly followed.

"And that concludes our business, Lord Bolton," Lord Eddard said brightly. "Please excuse us, but we need to get back to our home – early!" He and his 'entourage' promptly turned around and left, leaving Lord Roose Bolton seriously angry with everyone in general and his bastard son Ramsay in particular.

/ / /

"And that was the end of it, too," Lord Eddard later told his lady wife Catelyn. "I don't doubt that this will come back to bite us – Boltons are like that, though hopefully this will happen after I am dead and Robb has already made a mess in the North – say, by waging a semi-successful war in the South."

"And why would North wage war with South?" Lady Catelyn blinked.

"Because while His Grace King Robert, the First of His Name, is my friend, I know him – he'll leave a mess, somehow, and will probably kill me in the process of clearing it up. Meanwhile, we still have to talk to Bran and Arya as to who of them had the bright idea of putting raw dead chicken into our saddlebags."

"Good point," Lady Catelyn agreed, and the two went forth – only to be interrupted by a marten, (the original one or a different one, it did not matter), who was carrying a chicken egg, rather than a chick down the corridor.

"You get back here!" their Lordships shouted and began to chase the offending animal down their castle's corridor.

 _Meanwhile…_

"So this is where you live," Ramsay told the badger, as the two of them took a break from a northern thunderstorm, (both cold rainwater and small hail) in the badger's home turf. It was a hidden valley – they are not infrequent in the north, but because they are, well, hidden, they are not encountered very often. As a rule, they are located in out-of-the-way places, often shielded from two or more sides by steep hills or small mountains, (often overgrown with thick forests, too), and are shielded from the cold northern winds. That alone makes them rather valuable places to stay in, because the cold northern winds are some of the worst features of the North, especially during winters, but sometimes they hide something else, as they did now…

"Well, what do you know? Hot water springs!" Ramsay told himself brightly, before the geysers, (rather in both Westeros and Essos), erupted.

"…Okay, so hot water springs with something extra," Ramsay blinked, for he had never seen geysers, (or hot water springs) anywhere on Dreadfort's lands. "They still can be useful." He looked around and saw the badger retreating into its burrow, where it was almost untouchable, especially if you did not have the right breed of dog.

…Ramsay actually did, (he actually treated Dreadfort's dogs marginally better than the local humans, regardless of whether his father was in the equation or not), but none were at hand for the obvious reason.

"I don't know the details just yet," he told the badger in its' burrow, "but you might just be my ticket to Winterfell and its' library. All I need now is a plan."

Overhead, the wind was still blowing, but now the sun has come out and was bathing everything in its' golden light. The geysers continued to erupt, filling the air with some interesting smells, and Ramsay nodded that there was very little animal life in the valley, not even frogs and beetles that Westeros badgers like to eat, (not that they get a chance at having poultry very often). Even the badger itself was clearly staying at the outskirts of the valley and not moving in, despite its' warmth.

"And the plot deepens," Ramsay muttered to himself, (he was not insane, really, he – just liked talking with himself than with anyone else, even Reek). "I really do need a maester's knowledge." There were no maesters in Dreadfort – Lord Roose considered them an element of human society, and as such they were not welcome among Boltons, even half-human ones, such as Ramsay. Consequently, Ramsay needed to go somewhere else to gain access to a maester, and he already knew about Winterfell, because of the obvious reasons.

Singing a jaunty tune, Ramsay left the badger – for now – and went back home to flesh out his plan.


End file.
